


An Intimate Case Study of Will Graham, Vampire

by virdant



Series: A novel approach to the vampire conundrum [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (via Hannibal), Cannibalism, Food, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, M/M, Questionable Scientific Research, Science, Vampire Will Graham, Vampires, more excuses to write about food!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 03:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16484759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virdant/pseuds/virdant
Summary: In which Dr. Hannibal Lecter is a researcher in JHU studying vampires, Will Graham is a volunteer, and there is a lot less research being done and a lot more flirting.A collection of one-shots set in my research vampire AU.





	An Intimate Case Study of Will Graham, Vampire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinokodon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinokodon/gifts).



> I really wanted to finish this before halloween, but life conspired. Anyways, I managed to finish this one part (out of god knows how many), only one day late! Better late than never, right?
> 
> One of my many research vampire AUs, which perpetually travels across fandoms despite the fact that I have never read any of the vampire classics.

Money was hard to come by, as a vampire. Oh, long-term investments were one thing, but banks got a little leery when you showed up a few decades later and didn’t look any older, and then there were inheritance forms to fill out when it was time for you to officially die—and birth certificates to forge, and education documents and…

So Will Graham, going on four-hundred and thirty-two, give or take a few decades, had taken to volunteering.

“Welcome to Johns Hopkins University, Mr. Graham,” Dr. Hannibal Lecter said, courteously, which was a pleasant change of pace. Usually he got a: “Please don’t bite me,” as a greeting. Dr. Lecter, who had a number of papers published in the United States Staking Association’s journals, led him to the laboratory. “Our research has been focused on the effacy of garlic’s properties of protection when prepared in different methods.”

“Yes,” Will said, tersely. There was a persistent aroma of garlic in this area, and it made him antsy. “I read the flyer.”

He was led to a waiting room and offered a seat on a low couch. There was a bowl of candies on the matching coffee table, along with a stack of papers. “We have a brief survey for you to fill out before we get started. If you’ll take a seat.”

Will sat.

“I will be back shortly.”

Will had been in a good number of laboratories in his time; over the many years, regulations changed, but the persistent nature of scientists had remained ever the same. The kitchenette in the corner—a fridge, a microwave, and a sink—suggested that this was the lab’s clean room. An undergrad walking out of the lab proper still in their lab coat confirmed that scientists continued to flout safety regulations in favor of convenience.

Will ignored the undergrad, in favor of filling out the survey. There were more than a few questions about his eating habits, which he filled out gamely, eyeing the sweets on the table balefully as he did so. 

He was _hungry_.

Survey complete, he was turning the candy over in his hands when Dr. Lecter emerged from the lab. “We’re ready for you,” he said, still courteous. 

“So how is this going to work?” Will followed Dr. Lecter—not into the lab, as he expected, but to what was clearly Dr. Lecter’s office. The desk was piled with silverware. The room was filled with the aroma of garlic.

Will paused.

Dr. Lecter said, “Please take a seat.”

Will sat.

Dr. Lecter disappeared through a door and emerged with two bowls balanced on an arm, faintly steaming. “To begin with, a roasted garlic potato soup with crispy brussel sprouts.” He set it before Will. “Enjoy.”

Will looked down at the soup, and then back at Dr. Lecter, who had settled on the other side of the desk with his own bowl. “Am I supposed to drink this?”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“I have a survey,” Dr. Lecter said, amiably.

Will eyed the bowl skeptically. “You have a survey,” he repeated, flatly.

He nodded, just a brief incline of the head.

“You aren’t going to do Kunze method measurements?” 

“Kunze method measurements for undead activity?” Dr. Lecter echoed. “You’re very well informed.”

“I’ve done the volunteer circuit for a few centuries,” Will replied. “It’s good to know the details of how things affect me.”

“Indeed.” A pause. “If it would make you feel better, I would be happy to set up the means for measurement.”

“It’s fine.” He eyed the soup again. “Just drink this soup and fill out a survey?”

“Yes.”

Will picked up the spoon—stainless steel, not silver—and tasted it. It was rich and creamy, the fat of the butter and cream purred with potatoes and roasted garlic. It slid over his tongue like silk, blended that finely. The leaves of the crispy brussel sprouts were like bright bursts of salt as they crunched underneath his teeth. There was a drizzle of what looked like chili oil along the top of the soup, but had a rich tang to it rather than a spicy kick. Silk and crisp. Rich and bright. It was a medley of flavor, the earth of roasted garlic reminding him of grave dirt and quiet places.

“It’s good,” Will said.

“Thank you.”

“You made this?”

Dr. Lecter smiled, just the tiniest movements of the mouth and eyes. 

Will took another sip, and another. “So what’s your hypothesis?” On the phone to make this appointment, Dr. Lecter had been as cagey as a scientist in a conference when faced with other scientists who would be all too willing to steal his research. In person, he was still reticent, though he gamely said, “We are researching the properties of garlic as a vampiric deterrent.”

Will looked down at his soup; it was almost finished. “When it’s fed to vampires?”

“When it’s cooked.”

He looked up, just briefly enough to meet Dr. Lecter’s eyes. Dr. Lecter smiled back. “Finished?”

He put his spoon down into his empty bowl.

Dr. Lecter took the bowl. “Thank you for your time,” he said. “If you could fill out the survey before you leave.”

It wasn’t a question.

Will eyed the survey. It asked a range of questions from the soup’s flavor profile—he jotted down a few notes—to whether or not he’d eat it again—yes, was the answer to that. He handed it to a hapless undergrad before going back home.

There was a twinge of stomach pain later—but other than that, Will Graham had pleasantly experienced no ill-effects

*

A few days and a polite phone call later, Will Graham headed back to the lab to follow up, letting himself on campus just past midnight. He had been invited already, after all. Once in Dr. Lecter’s lab, there was a survey about the potato soup—Will noted the stomach pain as a 2 on a scale of 10—and a survey about his current mood—fine, the dogs were antsy and routing out ants, but that didn’t affect him untowardly. Survey complete, he watched a graduate student pipette (by hand, thankfully) through the window into the wet lab area. Said graduate student had their lab coat sleeves rolled up, stains on their glove, and wasn’t wearing safety glasses—Will was impressed by how many safety regulations they were breaking.

“Hello, Will,” Dr. Lecter said pleasantly.

Will jerked a thumb towards the graduate student. “You know they’re breaking about a dozen safety regulations, right?”

Dr. Lecter didn’t shrug, but his expression managed to convey the sentiment well enough. 

The aroma of garlic was stronger in Dr. Lecter’s office. This time, he offered Will a plate of pork belly—fried crisp—with fragrant garlic. The fat melted on his tongue, the meat tender and succulent. It was accompanied with a garlic sauce that reminded Will of the oil drizzled on top of the soup, rich and salty with lingering sweetness after he swallowed.

His teeth crushed the crust, molar to molar. His canines sliced through flesh and fat. And on his tongue, there was garlic, fragrant and warm.

Will Graham looked up. “This is delicious,” he said, again. “Pork?”

Dr. Lecter looked at him from his own plate. “From a well-fed pig,” he said. “He lived a robust and joyful life.”

“That’s a lot of detail to know about a pig,” Will pointed out.

“I employ an ethical butcher,” Dr. Lecter replied. His mouth eased in a smile. “Any adverse side-effects?”

Will looked down at his plate, clean. “No,” he said. “What are you doing to this garlic?”

“Ah, we can’t reveal all the secrets of my research,” he said, clearing the plates. “You’ll have to wait for the paper to go through peer review first.”

*

Dr. Lecter called him the next evening, asking him to come in immediately. Will drove the less-than-two-hour-drive-if-you-take-advantage-of-the-late-night-hour-to-push-speed-limits drive from Wolf Trap, Virginia, to Baltimore, Maryland without any incident. 

“Black garlic chocolate cake with a raspberry infused chantilly cream and raspberry reduction,” Dr. Lecter said, serving Will a slice.

“No survey?” Will asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t have one prepared.”

“Pretty shoddy experimentation work.”

Dr. Lecter smiled, that faint movement of the facial muscles. “I assure you, I have enough data without an extra survey.”

“Hm.” 

The fork cut through the soft cake without any resistance, cake and cream and cake and cream. It barely shifted, even as Will threw the layers of cake off balance as he cut. Then he tasted it:

The sponge of the cake melted in his mouth. Chocolate, bitter, rounded with the sweetness of garlic heated over the course of several weeks, the lushness of the chocolate balanced with the balsamic-like aroma of the garlic. The cream, light and airy, practically floated on his tongue: sweet, the hints of acidity from the raspberry, and something else: something…

Will stared at his plate.

“Seconds?” Dr. Lecter asked.

“There’s blood in this,” Will said. He took his final bite, scraping the last of the cream up with his fork. “There’s blood in everything you’ve given me.”

Dr. Lecter said, without guile, “Yes.”

“Aren’t you measuring the effectiveness of garlic when it’s cooked?”

“Yes,” he said. “Your peers have given me enough data. This is a personal project of mine.”

“The effect of garlic when mixed with human blood?”

“And flesh.” Hannibal closed his eyes, savoring his own slice. “None in this, I’m afraid.”

“So, Dr. Lecter.” Will looked down at his empty plate. “You’re a cannibal.”

“We can’t all be vampires,” he replied. “And please, call me Hannibal.”

Will thought of the oil on the soup—infused with blood—the sauce accompanying the pork belly—mixed with blood—and now the chantilly cream—

“I’ll take seconds,” he finally said. “If you’re offering. Hannibal.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos always appreciated!
> 
> enjoyed this? [reblog on tumblr](https://virdant.tumblr.com/post/179646772131/fic-hannibal-tv-an-intimate-case-study-of)  
> want to talk writing? [follow me on tumblr](https://virdant.tumblr.com/) | [follow me on twitter](https://twitter.com/virdant)


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